


Knife to Meet You

by littlemiss_m



Series: Kinktober 2018 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Kinktober 2018, Knifeplay, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, referenced ot4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16176638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: Ignis ties Prompto down on the bed, takes his hearing and blinds his eyes, and then gets to work with his knives.





	Knife to Meet You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober Day 3, sensory deprivation & knife play.

As always, the scene started with Prompto stepping out of the shower, his hair dry but skin dewy and clammy with resident dampness. Ignis wasn't in the room anymore – wouldn't be there until later on, when they'd begin for good – but he'd left behind a tray full of equipment for Prompto to go over, rows of items lined up neatly on the instrument table that Ignis kept for this exact purpose, the one that looked like it came directly from a hospital's operating room and always sent shivers racing up and down Prompto's spine.

His clothes still sat on a neat pile on the dresser, each piece folded with extra precision just in case Ignis was in the mood for some extra discipline tonight. The chance was almost non-existant, considering the scene they had planned for the evening, but Prompto wasn't about to take the risk.

Goosebumps prickling his skin, he made his way to the instrument table. The lenghts of rope were normal enough that his gaze slid right past them without a second thought, as well as the padded cuffs for all four of his limbs. A blindfold, a pair of noise-canceling headphones, but no gag; exactly what they'd discussed. Biting down on his lip, Prompto fingered the sleek fabric of the blindfold, testing it's texture against his skin despite knowing already what it felt like on his face.

The second row consisted of an assortment of knives, and here Prompto paused, a nervous excitement not unlike anxiety welling in his chest. Ignis had warned him beforehand to not touch the blades unless he wanted to take something off the table, lecturing him briefly on bacteria and contamination, and Prompto twisted his hands together behind his back as he bounced up and down on his toes, thinking. There were five knives in total, all thin and relatively short, ranging from a simple surgeon's knife to a more elaborate, dagger-like design that had to come out of some royal collection or something, and the thought had Prompto squirming before he even put it into words. Noctis knew what they were up to, had blessed their evenings alone, even – and what a conversation _that_ had been – but the rest of the Citadel... They had to have guessed by now that something was going on, with the four of them swinging from one bed to another on completely random, yet this – this was something else alltogether, something that had Prompto flushing red in embarrassment even as his dick began to perk up in interest.

Prompto gave the rest of the table – lube and condoms, mostly, but also a potion next to a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads – a quick look before deciding it was all fine by him, nothing to set aside, nothing in need of adding. Nodding to himself, he grabbed his stress ball and made his way to the bed, which had already been prepared by Ignis, and set to do what he'd been ordered to.

The room was quiet around him when he crawled to the middle of the bed to lie on his back. The silence set his thoughts racing – as it always did – but Prompto tried to ignore it, crossing his ankles and shifting around until his body lay ramrod-straight, his head resting comfortably on a pillow already fluffed up for him. Once he was satisfied with his position, he closed his eyes and exhaled, breathed in and exhaled, trying to find something to focus on that wasn't his brain working on overdrive. There was a small prickle just under his left toes, one he had to work out before it grew into a proper itch, and so he broke pose for the few seconds it took to ground his foot down on the bed. Back in position, he continued his search for a steady breathing rhythm, now distracted by the hum of blood in his ears, the sudden whistle of winds blowing outside–

The stressball was in his hand before he even knew it. Its rubber spikes were long, soft at the ends and sturdier near the root, and the texture was just what he needed to ground himself. Eyes still firmly closed, Prompto folded his arms over his stomach and squeezed at the ball, rolling it softly to feel the little nubs press into his palm and the soft skin of his stomach. It was easy to focus on the ball and it's soft rocking motion, even with the winds and his heart and his blood all hounding him, and soon he began to slip into a space where nothing existed but him and his body, the little prickles here and there, a muscle spasming but not pushing him out of his headspace. It was him and a nothingness like the moment before sleep, and Prompto was calm.

When the door opened and footfalls entered the room, Prompto's first instinct was to open his eyes and have a look at what was going on. He didn't, of course, already used to the routine of calming himself in preparation for Ignis, but still – still! – after all these months, he couldn't stop the twitch of facial muscles.

Ignis was silent as he moved through the room. Anticipation coiling low in his belly, Prompto loosened his grip on the stress ball and used his ears instead, trying to pinpoint Ignis' location. From the door to the dresser – a shuffle of clothes, and he knew it was the suit jacket being removed, a tie loosened – to the instrument table and then, finally, to the bed.

The mattress dipped, Prompto's body shifting along it. A hand rested on his chin. ”Are we good to go, darling?” Ignis spoke in smooth tones, the darling something much more now than the usual petname, and Prompto managed to resist the urge to nod. Be still, he'd been told.

”Yes, sir,” he murmured instead, lips a breath's width apart. Long fingers patted his cheek before tangling into his hair, but it was Ignis who bent down to kiss him, not him being pulled up, and so he continued to lay as still as possible.

The kiss was hungry and deep, Ignis ravishing Prompto's mouth without a battle. He liked to see Prompto react, liked to see him dance and writhe and gasp for breath, but it was still a little too early for Prompto to let go like that, his headspace too shallow to allow such distractions, and Ignis knew it well. When he pulled away, Prompto whined, craning after him just so before remembering and slumping back down.

”As we discussed,” Ignis said, fingers now petting Prompto's scalp, ”I will take your mobility, your ears and your eyes, but leave you your mouth. Is this still allright, darling?”

”Yes, sir,” Prompto agreed easily. When the hand left his hair and Ignis the bed, he sighed, half in disappointment and half in excitement. He knew Ignis would return with either the cuffs or the rope, and the anticipation of being mere moments away from immobile had his heart beat growing quicker. His chest felt warm and he knew that if his eyes were open, if there was a mirror above him, then he'd see a deep flush coloring his entire upper body from the top of his ribs to the tips of his ears.

Ignis returned not with the cuffs, but with the rope. He took the stress ball from Prompto's hands and had him stretch his arms towards the posters, adjusting the positions until Prompto nodded his comfort. He'd need to be still for what was coming, and muscle strain simply didn't fit into the scene – not tonight, at least.

There was nothing for Prompto to do but wait, so it's what he did. Ignis' hands were almost uncharacteristically kind as they worked the rope into a cuff around his left wrist, then into knots around the nearest poster. This was their first time bringing blades into the bedroom, and Ignis always started out kinder, softer, the near opposite of what was to eventually come. There'd been no cock rings or cages on the table when Prompto went through the contents earlier, and remembering the fact sent all his blood rushing south even as his mind whined in desperation.

He didn't need Ignis' words to know that tonight, he'd be allowed to come as many times as he wanted to – if he could.

Tonight was not about his pleasure.

When Ignis was done with his hands, he moved to his legs, repeating the process over again until all four of his limbs were firmly attached to the posters. Here Prompto took a moment to test the ropes, wiggling his entire body to feel the knots rub on his skin, but also to give Ignis a little show. Though he heard no discernible reaction, he knew Ignis was never dissatisfied with him twisting against his binds, and the knowledge made his skin flush anew as his dick continued to fill against his thigh.

After the ropes, came the blindfold. Ignis weight on the bed had Prompto attempting to curl towards him, now free to move as he saw fit, secure in his binds and no longer at risk of slipping out of the scene. As the blindfold went on, Prompto's world went black and he realized just how much light had been seeping through his eyelids; what he had called utter darkness mere moments before had, in fact, been nothing of the kind.

Ignis left the bed once more and Prompto squirmed, flexing his arms and legs against the ropes while he still had the chance to. When Ignis returned, he was expecting the headphones, but instead felt a long finger being pressed over his mouth. A warning, a reminder, an extra clue before the fall. Prompto wanted to kiss the finger, wanted to lick at it, but he didn't.

”You may make noises if you so wish to,” Ignis spoke. His voice was a low, smooth hum in Prompto' ears, like soft velvet being dragged over his skin, and he shivered. ”But you will not speak unless there is something wrong, or if I am asking you to acknowledge my words. Do you understand?”

The question was an easy one and Prompto murmured his assent readily, lips parting ever-so-slightly. The tip of his tongue passed over the tiny little crack, felt for the skin of Ignis' finger – but didn't dare stop there, no matter how he craved for a simple kiss, a simple show of his affection.

Above him, Ignis chuckled. The hand left Prompto's face and he realized that little burst of laugh would be the last sound he heard till the end of the scene, and his stomach dropped in excitement before he felt the headphones being placed over his ears. Like the blindfold had cut off his sight, the headphones cut off his hearing, and in an instant his world grew that much smaller. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, could barely move his body within the restraints of his bindings. Prompto squirmed on the bed – once again empty of Ignis – and was fairly sure he'd gasped, had done _something_ with his mouth, but he couldn't even hear his own words – could only feel his heart and his blood, the pulse a steady beat in his ears, a thrum instead of a sound.

His world shrunken to physical sensation, Prompto could no longer tell where Ignis was when he was not on the bed. As soon as he'd felt the mattress shift, he'd began to wait for Ignis' return, for the knife he'd been promised, only – only Ignis wouldn't come back to him. Prompto didn't know how long he waited, had no way of measuring time past counting the beat of his heart, and his numbers became a muddied list of nonsense soon after he started. He could feel the soft linen under his body, the slightly cool room air over it, the ropes circling his wrists and ankles – but that was all he had, those three different sensations, and they wouldn't tell him anything but whether he was moving or not.

He could only wait. His blood was hot, his body all but trembling in anticipation, but even as his dick remined him of its existense, he could still do nothing but wait. By the time Ignis finally did return to the bed, Prompto had worked himself into an antsy mess, his breath a raspy roll in his lungs and goosebumbs on his arms. The first touch of something on his chest was cool but not cold, and it – it didn't _glide_ on his skin the way he expected it to, but rather rubbed and dragged, but without being abrasive.

It was only when the smell of plastic hit his nose that Prompto realized Ignis was wearing latex gloves. The fingers moved from the center of his chest towards the side, almost tickling him as they slid down the curves of his ribs, but from there they traversed to his nipple, where they remained, first skirting around the areola with ghost-like touches, then twisting and pulling. Prompto had requested the clamps for the session – he always did, _always_ , couldn't imagine a scene without the delicious bite burning through his chest – but Ignis hadn't agreed, had called them a distraction from what was to come, and in the end, Prompto had acquiesced.

All of sudden, Ignis pinched him _hard_ , pulling a shout from his lungs. His body arched off of the bed but Prompto hardly noticed, too lost in the dissonance of feeling a sound before hearing it. With Ignis' hand on him, his world had grown even smaller, from his body on the bed to his body under Ignis' touch, and everything felt a thousand times more electrifying, a simple graze of fingers on his skin like a trail of liquid fire. Prompto breathed hard and the hand left him.

His heart must have skipped a beat or two. This time, Ignis didn't leave the bed, barely moved – the mattress wobbled softly if at all – and then, finally, Prompto felt the press of cold metal just under his right clavicle.

It was the flat side of the blade, not the actual edge or even the tip, but Prompto felt his entire body freeze even as a hand pressed down on his upper stomach, a silent order to keep still. His earlier wiggles had been allowed but now, with a sharpened knife trailing down his chest, he was to be completely still.

The knife followed the curves of his heaving chest, the flat side gliding down his sternum and then to the side where it followed the curve of his lowermost rib, mirroring the route Ignis' hand had taken moments earlier. However, instead of traveling up this breast, the knife disappeared completely, nothing touching him anywhere, and Prompto held his breath, waiting, praying, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

The next thing he felt was the blade's edge between his ribs, the very tip hovering just above his skin, Ignis waiting or teasing, Prompto waiting and praying, his anticipation building and building and building–

–the blade cut into his skin and Prompto sobbed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! <3 Find me on tumblr as @missymoth :)


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